


Dedicated Sacrifice

by floofboy



Series: Miscellaneous Senyuu AUs [2]
Category: Senyuu. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Priests, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Angst, Reincarnation, but they still love each other I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29531838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floofboy/pseuds/floofboy
Summary: In which Alba is revered as a god, and Ros becomes a priest in the hopes of reaching him once more.
Relationships: Alba Frühling/Ross | Creasion
Series: Miscellaneous Senyuu AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165622
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Dedicated Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Part 2 of Floof's random AU fics, where I just write out like whatever without thinking about it too hard.
> 
> Hey, it's my birthday okay, I can do what I want 😤

“You’d like to withdraw from the university to become a _priest_?” 

Ros nods, shifting a little awkwardly on his feet. 

His academic advisor peers at him incredulously from behind her desk. 

“What brought this on… Ros, was it?” she asks, turning back to her computer as she types furiously on her keyboard. “Are you having trouble keeping up with your academics? We do have options for that… you can take a reduced load term, or a gap ye-” She cuts herself off, eyes widening. “Your grades are excellent! Just why…”

“It has nothing to do with my academics,” Ros says calmly. “I just need to be a priest.”

His advisor runs a hand through her hair, looking troubled. “I won’t pry too deeply into your circumstances, but I can’t recommend dropping out so close to the end of the term.”

“I can finish this term then,” says Ros, “Withdraw me from the university starting from next term.”

“I could do that, but…” his advisor glances up at him. “Are you planning to transfer to a more religion-focused institution?”

Ros blinks at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if you’d like to become a priest, you’ll need a graduate degree in Religious Studies, which in turn requires an undergraduate degree from an accredited post-secondary institution…”

“I… I do?”

His advisor’s gaze is a little judgmental now. “Ros, I can send you some links on the subject.” 

Ros coughs to hide his embarrassment. “Thanks. That would help.”

* * *

Twenty-one years ago, Ros was born to an average family in an average city, in this blessed world. 

That the world was blessed was something Ros became used to hearing from a young age. 

_Blessed be the world,_ the priests might chant, offering a basket of eggs up to the heavens. 

_Blessed be the world,_ a doctor might say, after one of Alba’s spells saves a patient from death. 

_Blessed be the world_ , a politician might exclaim, when Alba shows himself to stop a natural disaster in its tracks. 

But those words have never left Ros’ lips. 

So what that natural disasters would never take a human life? So what that war is gone, so what that fatal diseases are eradicated?

Did that truly make the world blessed?

Perhaps, objectively, it did. Perhaps he shouldn’t care about this so much, perhaps he should accept that a single man’s sacrifice bringing so much good made it more than worth it. 

(Perhaps he should recognize his hypocrisy. Because he knows, if the opportunity arose, he would sacrifice himself in the same way. 

But he can’t bear to see Alba do the same.)

And yet, whenever he watches the television, stares at the tiny, blurry figure of Alba doing whatever good deed it was that he was doing now-

Whenever he hears the cheery news announcer chirp away, treating Alba’s help as something that’s just _expected,_ something that deserves no more thanks than a cursory _blessed be the world-_

His teeth end up grinding, and he doesn’t even know why. 

(But he does know he can’t stand it.)

* * *

Ros has always been a smart child. 

He’s never really had many praise him for it though. His parents die in a car accident when he’s just a toddler, and he’s thrown around like a hot potato among distant relatives afterwards. 

It doesn’t bother him though. 

(He doesn’t know how he would’ve felt about having parents, after all.)

He would’ve easily been top of his class through his years of primary and secondary school if he had bothered to put in the slightest bit of effort. As it was though, Ros has also always been a lazy child, and in the end, he simply maintained decently above average grades. 

Things change when he starts university. 

He chooses to go into applied magic because he hears it’s an easy way to make money- so long as you can make it through the degree. And he has no doubt he can make it through. 

His confidence isn’t unwarranted. The concepts he learns, the classes he takes, none of them are particularly difficult to him, as though they’re all things he’s learnt before. 

What changes is simply that Ros is _interested._

He wants to learn magic. He feels as though something will change, if he does. 

So he puts effort into his studies for once, and ends up at the top of his class. Practices as much as he can, studies on his own time as well. 

His efforts take a while to pay off, but finally, in his third year of university, Ros awakens to his own magic for the first time. 

And promptly decides to become a priest.

* * *

Unfortunately, becoming a priest is apparently more difficult than he had initially assumed. 

In retrospect, it makes sense. It’s said that priests are one of the few who can speak to Alba, though only in times of great crises. It was a priest who called Alba to the Central Hajimaari Hospital, when its blessed machinery was beginning to fail. It was a priest who called Alba to the capital city, when its primary mana reactor threatened to explode. Alba would appear on his own to take care of natural disasters, but disasters of human making required a priest's intervention to call Alba in.

Because of this, priesthood is apparently a governmental position, paid for with taxpayer money. In order to even take the licensing examination needed to be become one, Ros would need a graduate degree in Religious Studies, as his advisor had said. But even if he successfully passes the exam, there’s no guarantee he can find a job. There are far more priest hopefuls than there are openings- it’s a stable, decently-paid job after all. 

Ros isn’t daunted though. 

He has eight more courses he needs to take to get his Bachelor’s of Applied Magic. If he overloads them all into his next term and begins applying to graduate schools now, he could potentially start on his graduate degree in six months’ time. 

As Religious Studies was a two-year degree, if he spent his summers studying as well, he could cut that down to a year and a half. 

Two years. Two years, and he can become a priest. 

He isn’t going to give up at the first hurdle.

* * *

There’s a shrine a twenty minute walk from his apartment. 

It’s decently-sized, as far as shrines go. The university Ros attends isn’t known for its religious studies, but it does offer the option, after all. Ros would imagine that Religious Studies majors are likely to visit shrines more often. 

And of course, there’s always many students who pray for their studies, even though it’s well-known that Alba won't intervene for anything less than a city-wide crisis. Nonetheless, the shrine is crowded during exam season, students filling the square building and even spilling into the courtyard. 

Ros hears they get so busy they stop accepting offerings, given that the eggs would rot before the priests could eat them all. 

Right now though, there’s still some time until exams. The shrine is still fairly empty, especially early in the morning. 

So Ros begins to visit every morning. 

He’s never gone before. Ros has never been the religious type- the opposite, really. Whispers of _heretic_ and _blasphemous_ are familiar to him. 

It can’t be helped. The idea of giving hollow praises to Alba in the way it’s expected in this society, calling him _Lord_ instead of _idiot,_ yelling out _blessed be the world_ at his feats... 

It grinds his gears. 

(And it’s made him no friends, but that’s fine. 

If he needs to accept Alba’s sacrifice to make friends in this living hell, he would stay friendless for life.)

Ros knows that he can’t keep on doing that though, if he truly wants to become a priest. 

But he can suck it up for a greater goal. 

(He’s gone through much worse than this.)

Ros approaches the shrine’s simple altar and gingerly places an egg in its offering carton. Then he laces his hands together, closes his eyes- and prays. 

Unlike how Ros imagines most prayers must go, he doesn’t ask anything of Alba. 

All he does is think of meaningless topics. Of movies he’s watched recently, of interesting magical theories he’s read up on. 

He doesn’t get a response, of course. 

Ros doesn’t care. 

(He cares a lot, but he’d be damned before he lets Alba hear that.)

* * *

His efforts are finally rewarded halfway into his graduate degree. 

“Hey, you,” a priest says with a smile, while Ros is on his way out from the shrine. “You’re a Religious Studies student, right? Ros?”

Ros knows who this priest is, of course. He’s done his research. Fold Dran, the elderly head priest for this shrine. His family is a well-known religious family- if Ros recalls correctly, his older sister is the head priest for the largest shrine in the capital city. 

Fold himself has been a head priest for fourteen years now, and he served as a regular priest for twenty-six years on top of that. 

He seems to be as sprightly as ever though. 

“I’m Fold Dran,” he continues, “The head priest of this shrine.”

It’s said no member of the Dran family has ever spoken to Alba, despite all their years of service. 

But as Ros learns more of the world of priesthood and shrines, that’s considered to be a blessing. To speak to Alba means a crisis has fallen upon the world. 

To these people, never hearing from Alba again would be cause for celebration. 

Shoving back a burst of fury at that thought, Ros smiles genially at the priest. 

“Yes, I’m Ros,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ros is a good, pious name,” Fold says with a nod. “Were your parents as devoted as you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” says Ros, “They died when I was a toddler.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Fold says gently, “I hope they’ve cycled onto a good life.”

“Thank you,” Ros says, because that’s what’s expected of him, then- “Though I must admit, I’m surprised you know my name.”

“You’ve been praying daily without fail for over a year,” Fold says with a small laugh. “I was curious to see who would be so dedicated.”

“Isn’t it only expected of a priest?”

“It’s easier for us,” says Fold, “We work here, after all. It’s no small feat to stay at the top of your class, all while praying at the shrine every day.”

He waves him away. “Anyways, I won’t keep you here any longer. I just wanted to give you a proper hello. See you around, young Ros.”

“Goodbye,” says Ros politely, then continues on his way.

* * *

In around a year, once he’s graduated and passed the certification exam with flying colours, he’s offered a position as an apprentice priest at the shrine by the university. 

Naturally, he accepts.

* * *

He spends a long time praying to Alba the night after he’s ordained as an apprentice priest. 

_I’m a priest now,_ he thinks snidely. _Aren’t you supposed to be able to talk with me?_

But unsurprisingly, there’s still no response. 

_I’m breaking all twenty-four of your ribs once I see you again,_ Ros vows. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no response to that either.

* * *

As an apprentice priest, his primary duties are taking care of the shrine. Cleaning its halls, tending to the garden courtyard, cooking the eggs received as offerings. 

To be honest, even after just a month of priesthood, Ros is sick and tired of eggs. 

But they’re the “holy food”, so eggs it is for every meal. 

Idiotic. 

(It isn’t as though Alba doesn’t have other food he likes.)

Another common duty for priests is teaching and telling stories. They’re meant to know everything about Alba inside and out, so they’re sent off to tell the more fun stories at libraries and daycares, while teaching the hard historical facts at schools. 

An apprentice priest like Ros isn’t allowed to teach just yet. But he _is_ allowed to tag along with a higher-ranked priest as an assistant. 

In general, Ros much prefers being a teacher’s assistant to a storyteller’s. Historical facts are tolerable enough, after all. 

_In the year 1328, Alba introduced the first prototypes of the medical devices used in hospitals worldwide. In the year 2012, Alba appeared to dissipate a meteorite that would have destroyed the world._

Blah, blah, blah. Ros finds history to be rather dull, but it’s inoffensive. 

He can’t say the same for the stories. 

“And so, Lord Alba, vowing that no one would ever lose their dearest the way he had his own, ascended to godhood,” narrates a priest. “The end.”

The gaggle of children sitting in front of them break out into giggles and scattered claps. 

Ros holds back the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Ms. Priest!” yells one child in the front, “Why didn’t Lord Alba just heal Lord Ros?”

“Lord Alba is not omnipotent,” the priest says solemnly, “It’s said that Lord Ros gravely injured his very soul by absorbing Lord Alba’s mana backlash to save his life. It took all Lord Alba had to ensure Lord Ros would re-enter the cycle and heal, rather than disappear entirely.” She smiles brightly. “But one day, once Lord Ros’ soul has recovered, he will return. Lord Alba will bring him to the Rift, and they’ll live happily ever after.”

...Ros gives into the urge to roll his eyes.

* * *

Three years after he begins his work as an apprentice priest, he’s promoted. 

And he immediately considers leaving. 

It’s nothing to do with his new duties. He still finds the old stories as cringeworthy as ever, but he’s gotten desensitized to them over the years. 

No, the problem is simpler than that- it’s been _years_. 

Five years he’s spent praying to Alba. Five years he’s spent cursing the moron. 

It isn’t as though Alba isn’t around. He still shows up every so often around the world, in brief flickers from afar, dissipating the energy of earthquakes into the air, stopping tsunamis in their tracks until they settle. 

But never anywhere close to Ros. Never anywhere too close to a human, in all honesty- there’s a reason why even today, no one has any good pictures of the man, the so-called god. 

The only conclusion is thus. 

Alba doesn’t care for him. 

And why should he dedicate his life to someone who doesn’t care for him? It makes no sense. 

So he really ought to just quit. It wasn’t too late to turn his life around, to find another love, to make friends, maybe even to make himself a family. 

In the end though, he doesn’t. 

(Because he gets the feeling that’s just what Alba wants.)

* * *

The world celebrates Alba’s birthday on the wrong day. 

June 3rd is a national holiday, with grand festivals and parties held all across the world. 

But Alba’s birthday is March 6th. 

It’s easy as day to see how the mix-up had happened, but it doesn’t really matter. It isn’t as though anyone would believe him if he corrected them, and more importantly, it’s convenient for him. 

June 3rd is a big day for any shrine out there. They naturally hold many events leading up to the holiday, and the festival held on the day itself is a sight to behold. 

Ros is so busy around then he doesn’t even have the time to breathe. 

March 6th, however, is a perfectly normal day. There’s nothing much to do but regular work. 

So he’s gotten into the habit of doing his own small celebration on the day. He buys himself a cake, happily eats it in front of the altar, and brings over a blanket from his apartment to sleep the night away at the shrine. 

Technically he shouldn’t be doing this, but no one’s caught him just yet. All the other priests leave the shrine by nine, after all. 

He doesn’t mind that he’s the only one eating the cake. Nothing would change even if Alba were there- as if he’d let Alba have a bite. 

...Because well, Alba doesn’t like the saccharine sweet cakes that Ros does anyway.

(But it would be a lie to say he isn't a tiny bit lonely.)

* * *

Usually, Ros sleeps through the night at the shrine. And despite the hard ground, he usually finds he sleeps better than usual. 

But this year is different. 

This year, he wakes in the middle of the night. 

“Ros,” murmurs a voice, wretched. “How long are you going to do this for?”

Ros’ eyes blink open immediately. 

The room is almost pitch black, only the light pollution from outdoors lighting the surroundings ever-so-faintly. 

That isn’t a problem though. He hadn’t graduated with a Bachelor’s in Applied Magic for nothing. 

Ros flicks a ball of magefire into his hand, lighting his surroundings as bright as day. 

But the room is utterly empty. 

(His hands clench into fists, tight enough to draw blood.)

* * *

Ros always takes the day after Alba’s birthday off. 

So he slips out of the shrine early that morning, before any of the other priests arrive for the day, and heads back to his apartment. 

It’s early enough that it’s still pitch black outside, so he doesn’t expect to run into anyone. 

Except when he steps off the elevator for his floor, begins heading towards his apartment door, he spots a man standing right by it. 

A man he recognizes well.

Ros finds himself running. 

“Ro-”

And as swiftly as he can, he augments his fist with mana and slams it into the man’s chest as hard as he can. 

(His apartment door is demolished from the impact.)

* * *

“I can’t believe you actually broke all of my ribs.”

“ _I_ can’t believe you had the audacity to heal yourself,” Ros just says with a sneer. 

Seconds after Alba flew through his apartment door, the wood splintering into pieces, Ros found himself sitting in his living room, Alba rudely settled right next to him. 

Glancing behind him, Ros found that his apartment door was completely intact as well. 

It had all been rather displeasing. 

“Of course I healed myself,” says Alba, sounding a little exasperated. 

“You don’t deserve to,” Ros says coldly. 

He whips his hand out to clench at the man’s arm, as tight as he can. Just to make sure this isn’t an illusion, or a dream. 

But the man doesn’t disappear. In fact, the man even yelps out in clear pain.

Ros doesn’t let go though. 

Alba deserves much worse. 

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you last night. ‘How long are you going to do this for?’” Ros snaps, rage coursing through his body. “For as long as it takes!”

Alba’s expression twists. “I-”

“-Shut up,” hisses Ros. “I already know what you’re going to say.” His voice shifts to a falsetto. “ _Ah, but Ros, what if you die for me again? I don’t care that I’m making you live in a living hell as long as_ I _don’t feel guilty about it._ ” 

“What do you mean by living hell?” Alba demands, a note of panic staining his voice now. 

“This entire world!” 

“Is… is this world that bad?” says Alba, voice going quiet. 

“A world where I can’t call you an idiot without becoming a social pariah is not a world I want to live in,” Ros says primly. 

“Hey! _That’s_ your main complaint?!”

Hearing one of Alba’s retorts for the first time in almost three decades is almost enough to make his rage disappear. 

Almost. 

“Of course it isn’t,” snaps Ros, “But it’s part of it.”

He lets his hand clench harder around Alba’s arm. (Though Alba, much to his annoyance, doesn’t yelp in pain this time.)

Ros continues, “I hate that I can see you ignoring me.” 

Alba flinches. 

“I hate that no one spares a second thought to you as a person.” Ros reaches out to grab Alba’s other arm just as tight. “I hate that you’ve sacrificed yourself for centuries to this idiocy!”

“Wha-”

“Tell me, Hero,” Ros says, voice rising, “How long are _you_ going to do thi- mmph?!”

Ros finds his grip forcibly loosened from Alba’s arms, his face smushed into Alba’s chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Alba says, voice broken. “I’m so sorry. Ros, I-”

He shoves Alba away roughly. 

“-What exactly are you sorry for?” Ros cuts in, sharp. 

“For ignoring you,” comes a quiet voice. 

“That’s a start, I suppose.” Ros sneers. “What else?”

“For letting you die…”

Ros slams a foot into Alba’s ankle. “Wrong.”

“Ow!”

“If anything,” says Ros, “Perhaps I should be apologizing to you for that.”

“What?” Alba says incredulously. 

Ros glances away, stares out towards a window, towards the sun finally beginning to rise. 

“Maybe it would’ve been better,” Ros says finally, “if I had just followed you into your next life.”

“You-” Alba sounds wretched again. “How can you say that?”

“Because I only had to spend decades without you and I couldn’t stand it.” Ros shrugs. “I can’t imagine spending centuries.”

“It wasn’t like I could stand it either,” Alba murmurs, “I-”

He stiffens suddenly. 

“What’s the matter?” asks Ros. 

“Earthquake sensor just went off,” Alba says solemnly, “I need to-”

“Stab or beat?”

“Huh?” 

“I was just wondering how you wanted to die, just in case you decided not to take me along with you,” Ros says cheerily, “So? Which takes your fancy?”

“...I’ll take you along.”

“Good.”

* * *

“Hero,” Ros says through gritted teeth, “When I asked you to take me with you, I didn’t mean in a _princess carry._ ”

“But how else can I hold you?” Alba asks, sounding genuinely confused. 

“You- ugh, whatever.” Ros turns his attention towards the vast expanse of turquoise ocean below them. “More importantly, what exactly is the plan here, Hero?”

“It’ll be fine,” Alba says, “I’ve done this tons of times.”

Then he dives them both into the sea. 

A bubble of air surrounds them both, pushes past water and fish as they dive down at breakneck speeds. In a blink of an eye, they’ve reached a sandy ocean floor. 

The only sign of the ocean pressure bearing down on them is a slight indent in the bubble. 

Even Ros has to reluctantly admit to himself it’s an impressive bit of magic, though he’d never say that out loud. 

“Fine, what now-”

Alba’s mana _explodes_ around them, water cascading upwards with a torrential roar. 

Ros’ head jerks up, but he can’t even make out how high the water the water goes, and with the frightening amount of mana that surrounded them-

It might have even reached the stratosphere. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll settle things down in a few minutes,” says Alba, tone soothing. “I just need to move all the energy from the earthquake somewhere, y’know?”

Soothing? Why is Alba _soothing_ him? 

That’s when Ros realizes he’s tensed automatically at the giant burst of mana. His mana has hardened into a solid mass within him, ready to come out to defend him at a moment’s notice. 

(And, simultaneously, he’s pressed himself tight against Alba’s chest, arms wrapped in a vice grip around the man’s neck. 

Ros immediately shifts back and pretends it didn’t happen.)

He stares out blankly at the water rushing up around them. 

It’s… unfathomable. The amount of mana he can feel roaring around them terrifies him to his very core. It far outstrips any demon he’s known, any human he’s met. 

And as the water roars, despite his best attempts not to, he can’t help but think-

What makes a god?

But the sheer petulance that follows that disturbingly worshipful thought is more than enough to bring him back to his senses. 

Because while the amount of mana Alba wields may be inhuman, that doesn’t change the fact that-

“Why are you wasting so much mana?” Ros says, voice harshly criticizing. “You’re shoving in mana into every water molecule, when all you need to do is apply some kinetic energy around it.” He snorts. “Are you trying to show off, Hero?”

“I- no!” Alba exclaims, flushing red. “You know I’ve never been good at control!”

“Wow, a god that can’t control himself,” Ros drawls, “That’s certainly going to turn out well.”

“I can do the bare minimum, okay!”

“You’re not denying being a god? How arrogant you’ve become, Hero… disgusting. Don’t look at me.”

“Ros!” Alba whines. 

And at that childish whine, Ros has to desperately hold back a wide grin.

* * *

Ros should really make Alba stew for longer. To make him understand how Ros had felt, ignored and abandoned by him for decades. 

He’s still angry, though it’s beginning to fade. 

(As much as he likes to pretend otherwise, he’s always been as weak for Alba as Alba has been for him.)

Though, it turns out that Alba had only started hearing him after he became a priest. There’s far too many voices in the world for Alba to be able to parse through each one, which Ros _supposes_ makes sense. 

(And Alba had believed Ros to be dead for good, that his soul had been too injured to even reincarnate. 

“I never expected I would be able to see you again,” Alba whispered, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. 

...It’s enough to twinge at his heart.)

So technically, he only truly ignored him for a couple years, out of an idiotic sense of guilt and shame. 

He’s still annoyed though.

Regardless, Ros should really make Alba stew for longer. He’s sure Alba’s ego has reached perilous peaks, considering the entirety of the Human World worships him. His spurned lover so easily falling back into his arms would no doubt just make things worse. 

Really, you could even say he has a _responsibility_ to knock Alba’s ego down a few notches. How could Alba make proper retorts to Ros’ jokes without eating a bit of humble pie first?

So he should. 

He really should. 

...He would get around to it eventually. 

(Maybe when Alba stops sometimes looking like he’ll break at the slightest touch.)

* * *

Ros doesn’t bother to explain why he ends up quite literally rolling on the floor laughing when Alba actually ends up whisking him away to a home in a dimensional rift. It seems like Alba hasn’t kept up with the contemporary myths surrounding ‘Lord Alba’. 

Reality isn’t as magical as the myths though. There’s a lot of things Ros needs to discuss, and a lot of responsibilities he’s left behind. 

(He gets one of the easier topics out of the way at least, in a casual conversation. 

“The Demon World still exists,” Alba says quietly, “Rchi tries to drag me there every couple decades or so.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“I can’t let the world be,” is the flat response, and with that, Ros knows he has an uphill battle ahead of him.)

But Alba is too distracting. As stupidly adorable and stupidly endearing as ever, despite his ridiculous levels of mana, despite the ridiculous feats he accomplishes on a daily basis. 

So he lets himself be doted on a little, lets Alba lean happily into his arms, lets himself be happily pressed into Alba’s chest. 

Alba apparently doesn’t technically need to eat anymore, but that doesn’t stop himself from making delicious meals for Ros, and that doesn’t stop Ros from glaring at him until Alba starts eating as well. 

It should be easy to forget everything, but in the end, it’s Alba himself who doesn’t let him forget. Alba, who jerks up every so often, an apologetic smile on his face. Alba, who brings him to disaster after disaster before they have a chance to become one, and destroys them with terrifying amounts of mana. 

But while Alba’s mana may be terrifying at times, Alba certainly isn’t. 

He could never be, not to Ros. 

So Ros concentrates on Alba and what he’s doing, not the mana. 

“You’re so inefficient with everything,” Ros says disapprovingly, once they’re back from dealing with yet another disaster. 

“Yes, yes.” Alba gently lets Ros back down onto the ground.

After over a week of Ros' incessant criticisms, Alba is beginning to get rather blasé about it- much to Ros’ displeasure. 

“There’s no reason why we can’t automate this all,” complains Ros. 

Alba chokes. “I’m sorry?”

“It’ll need to be connected to your power, of course,” Ros continues, “But you already have a sensor system built up- we would simply need to add in a spell trigger on top of that.”

“But, if the disaster happens near human settlements…”

Ros waves a hand dismissively. “Living brings all have some mana. Adjusting spells to avoid them is simple.”

“I think we have different definitions of simple-”

“-The bigger issue is distinguishing between natural landscapes and human-developed land,” Ros cuts in, contemplative. “But I believe that can be accounted for using an adjusted form of Flam’s Theorem…”

Ros continues to describe his ideas for some minutes, but he stops himself when he realizes he’s lost Alba. 

“How do I still know more than you?” Ros asks, his gaze judgemental. “Haven’t you spent any time studying these past _centuries_?”

“...I didn’t want to.”

Ros is unimpressed. “So instead you built up the only hammer you had until everything became a nail.”

No wonder Alba’s mana levels are frighteningly inhuman.

“I didn’t want to study anymore, okay!” Alba snaps. “I managed with what I knew I could do! I expanded the spells I knew to bigger and bigger scales, but trying something completely new- I couldn’t- I didn’t want to-”

He cuts himself off, his expression crumpling into fragility. 

Ah. 

“Idiot,” Ros says with a sigh, “The mana backlash was an issue with your Mana Maker, and I managed to fix it before I died.”

Alba flinches. 

Ros continues regardless, “It had nothing to do with the spell you were experimenting with. There’s no reason to blame _studying_ for it.”

He grabs Alba’s hand and tugs. “Now, come on. I’m tired of competing for your attention with the entire world.”

“Wha-”

Ros drags them away.

* * *

The myths say that Alba would whisk Ros away to the Rift, and they would live happily ever after. 

They never mentioned that Ros would have to work day and night to reach his happy ending. 

But of course they wouldn’t. The people of the world consider Alba’s aid to be a given, as natural as the sun rising in the east. 

They would never imagine that ‘Lord Ros’ _detests_ it, and detests them as well. 

_Blessed be the world,_ they drone thoughtlessly. Never considering whether they could find a solution themselves. Never considering that Alba was human too, once. 

In the end though…

That was just how people were. It’s always been that way, and he’s known that since he was young. 

(Since the first time he saved a village from demons, only to be pelted by stones and rocks by an angry mob.)

As bitter as Ros may be, he knows that they still deserve to live. So even if he somehow managed to convince Alba to abandon them- 

He wouldn’t be able to convince himself. 

So he would find solutions to everything Alba provided, that the Human World depended far too much on now. 

He would work his hardest to craft their happy ending with his own hands. 

Or so he intends, until-

“I’ve been doing this for centuries, Ros,” Alba says, frustrated. “A few months, a few years more won’t make a difference. Let’s slow down.”

“It makes a difference to me!” Ros snaps. 

Alba has been doing this for centuries, and Ros wasn’t there to stop it. 

The idea of even just a few years more hurts. 

Dealing with disasters wasn’t even the biggest issue. Alba listens to the prayers of priests, and while that was somewhat more manageable than listening to every prayer there was, there were still hundreds of thousands of priests. 

Ros wants them gone from Alba’s head, moved to something modern and manageable like a _database,_ on a _computer,_ like Alba should’ve done from the start-

He opens his mouth to snap at Alba some more, but he finds his surroundings have melted away, shifted from their makeshift laboratory back to their makeshift home. 

“Hero-” he starts, annoyed. 

But then there’s lips pressing against his own, a tongue slipping lightly into his mouth, cutting off his words before they come out. 

Alba leans back. “Please?”

“...Fine,” Ros says curtly. “We can slow down a little.”

(He had been pleased that Alba had changed remarkably little in the past centuries, but it turns out that isn’t entirely correct. 

Alba appears to have learned how to _seduce_ him into doing what he wants.)

Ros sighs. “I suppose my weak, pathetic little hero is truly dead and gone…”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

* * *

So there’s a fair bit of work left until their happy ending, but Ros is certain they can reach it, eventually. 

And until then, it isn’t as though their life is intolerable. Ros enjoys being with Alba, far more than he had his life until then. 

(He hasn’t returned to the Human World since he left with Alba, but Alba’s told him they’ve been making their own assumptions about his disappearance. 

Especially since he’s been spotted by Alba’s side, even with as much as they avoid human settlements.)

But he wants to free Alba, as much as he can. 

(He wants Alba to look at him, and only him once more.)

And if he can manage that-

Then he thinks that'll be good enough, for them both.


End file.
